Katherine Longshore
You know that they’re lying to you.
You sit in a crowded auditorium, breathing the reek of stale French fries and dirty shoes. Assaulted by the clang and angst of a hundred other voices. And pitying the anonymous, faceless administrator calling for attention, announcing the title of the film you’re about to see: The Best Days of Your Life.
Images of football games and track meets, homecoming queens and student government meetings crowd the screen, showering everyone with relentless cheer.
You stare into the screen onstage, with images of prom and chemistry flickering across it. And you imagine what’s behind that screen: The worn boards, the black wing curtains, the jumble of leftover props from dozens of plays.
And that’s what you want. Not the jerseys and pom-poms, but the props and rigging.
In your first role on that high school stage you’ll play a catatonic mental patient. You’ll sit in a heap for two hours. Not moving. Not speaking. Your only “line” will be a glass-shattering scream.
But then you’ll go on to play an exiled Russian duchess, a head in a box (which eventually gets its cheerleader body back), a variety show MC, and a dead woman (the play is in flashback, and your part is actually the lead).
You’ll nurture a deep love for theater—and it’s not just because it gives you the chance to be the object of appreciation and applause. You’ll fall in love with the character of Ariel at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival (and eventually you’ll even have the chance to play the part in a circus tent in England). Sam Shepard will become your literary crush, and you’ll never lose your desire to ride a streetcar as Blanche DuBois.
On that stage, you’ll discover your place in this madhouse. Within this building—this architectural monstrosity that looks more like a prison than a place of education—you’ll meet and bond and fall in love with people who will remain your friends throughout your entire life.
You may think they are lying to you at freshman orientation. Your memories won’t include homecomings or basketball or dances filled with balloons and an endless loop of Duran Duran, Pat Benatar, and Huey Lewis. Nonetheless, your memories will root you to this place. To this moment. To this stage. To these people.
These days will not be the best of your life. (They can’t rival the day you first set foot in Africa, or the day you married your best friend, or the moment when you first met your children, or got the call saying your novel was actually going to be published.) But they won’t be the worst days either; they don’t compare to the day you get battered on a deserted African road, or the day when you learn about your dad’s cancer.
The truth is that your memories of these days will inspire you. They will perpetuate your love of literature—Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Tennessee Williams. They’ll remind you how to try your hardest, even when facing failure. They’ll give you a taste for the unusual, and for diving into things just because they’re new.
These days may not be the best days of your life, but like it or not, these days will define you. Live them.
Katherine Longshore is the author of Gilt (2012), a novel of gossip and betrayal, queen bees, and treason, set in the court of King Henry VIII. Growing up, Katherine wanted to be an actress, but after a university semester abroad, she created her own major in cross-cultural studies and communications, planning to travel and write. Forever. Four years, six continents, and countless pairs of shoes later, she went to England for two weeks, stayed five years, and discovered history. She now lives in California with her husband, two children, and a sun-worshiping dog. Visit her at KatherineLongshore.com and at YAMuses.Blogspot.com.